


Show Me

by Leef



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, M/M, Murder AU, No Smut, Other, only Carl being a psychopath witnessing a murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 09:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12768006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leef/pseuds/Leef
Summary: Carl knows he's different. He knows that his interest in murder victims isn't normal but he can't stop himself.





	Show Me

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boi. I had this idea and it didn't let me go so I wrote it. It's nothing smutty but there's a lot of blood and smashed heads. So beware.

Carl knew this wasn’t normal. Or okay. Or even close to what other, normal people did. But he couldn’t stop himself from doing it, and the worst thing was that he didn’t even find it disgusting. In fact, he had stopped thinking about what it was - or wasn’t - years ago.

It was dark in his room as he was looking through old files he had taken from his father’s office. He had started helping out at the station after school this summer since he was free and only waiting to get into college. Since he had lots of free time, he had offered his dad to help sort files and stuff like that. It was kind of planned, and he had even practiced his acting before he had been brave enough to offer – always afraid that Rick might see right through him. But he hadn’t. He never had. And so he began working at the station last week.

It took him a few days until his was daring enough to actually copy files from his dad’s computer, but he was so happy he did it. It wasn’t actually fear but a feeling of wanting to be cautious that had kept him from doing it in the beginning. But after all, this was what he needed, and he couldn’t deny it any longer. Everything seemed so dull and nothing had really caught his interest in years now.

At first, he had thought it was normal. That this was puberty and that it would go away sooner or later, this feeling of not really feeling anything at all. He started doing dangerous stuff to balance it out, but nothing really worked. Not in the long run, at least. He had tried driving in a dangerous way to feel something – anything. It helped in the beginning, but it soon stopped working and – to be honest – he found it stupid. It was too risky, and he didn’t want to die but rather the opposite. He stopped driving at all after he noticed it wouldn't help the way he wanted it to, not wanting to do something stupid with it.

He thought about doing drugs, too. He knew Merle had a lot to offer but no matter how exciting it sounded, seeing the junkie all wasted did its part to scare him off. He didn’t want to end like that. There were so many things he tried or thought about, but nothing seemed like a good idea in the end. Until one night he stumbled across a file his dad had brought home to work on.

They had pizza that night and the file was laying on the table. His mom was long gone with Shane, so those nights were only theirs and Carl knew his dad wanted to make up for working so much with Carl’s favorite pizza.

He was curious about that file, so he decided to take a look while his dad was using the bathroom. He had no idea what kind of case it was – Rick didn’t talk about it much – so he was surprised when the first thing he saw were photos of a guy with his head smashed. It was so bad, he wouldn’t have known that the photo was showing a head if there hadn’t been a note on it. Carl just stared at it and sucked in the air. He had seen a lot of this stuff in horror movies but the thought that this was real, not some make-up, made him nervous. But not in a bad way. He didn’t understand it right away, but he looked through the file, looking at and memorizing many more photos of blood and bashed brain. He was almost sad when he had to close the file because he heard the bathroom door.

After that night he had looked all the movies he could get that were the gory kind of movie. But he found that nothing was like looking at the photos had been. It didn’t feel the same, not as exciting, and so he started looking up photos of dead people – mostly murder victims – on the Internet. He often thought about what would happen if his dad found out about that, but he never did, so he continued it. It was okay, it was enough. For some time at least.

He did that almost a year until he finished school. It were those lazy days that made him realize that it wasn’t enough anymore. So, he made his mind to offer his dad a helping hand, especially since he was complaining about the immense paperwork piling up, that all those files had to be sorted in a different way because of some stupid new regulation. Carl knew this was his chance – maybe his only chance - so he faked his interest in working at the station. At first Rick had been reluctant but it didn’t take much to convince him. Carl had nothing to do anyway and he said that he would be glad to get to know what Rick was doing more. To feel more connected. That was the thing that did it and Rick agreed, seemingly happy for his son taking interest in what he did, maybe even hoping they would get closer again. Carl even thought that he was happy to spend more time with him. He knew that Rick was kind of sad after the divorce that his son had gotten so distant. Which was stupid because Carl had always been distant, he just hadn’t noticed it.

But who was he to complain. He plastered his best fake smile on his face and acted his excitement to spend time with his father. After years of training he knew exactly how to act, what to say and when to sound utterly happy about something – even though he felt nothing like that. He was just good at faking everything.

He started working on a Monday and Rick had spent an hour to tell him how those files were to be arranged and what system they had had until then. Carl made a few notes and told him he would try his best, that he believed he had understood and would come ask him if he had any more questions. Once alone in the room with all the files he started sorting through them, piling them up so they would go with the new system. At first, he was a little nervous but in the afternoon he was brave enough to check every file for things that might interest him. Mostly murder victims. Unfortunately, there weren’t too many, but there were a few. He was mainly looking for photos of crime scenes, of dead people, preferably gory ones. He didn’t know whether he was sad about not much happening in a small town like theirs or surprised by how many brutal things had happened anyway and about which he had never heard a word.

Then, after days of just taking photos of photos, he sneaked into the office of his dad during his lunch break. He knew there were files and photos on there, too, and he wanted to get those photos, wanted to have them somewhere he could always access them any time he wanted – or needed – to. It was easier than he thought since his dad tended to use the same password. Everywhere. As it turned out he used the same one at work too, so Carl copied all the files that were about murders. There really weren’t many but there were enough for him. For the time being, at least.

He went through the photos that night at home and he was intrigued by a certain case which was – in fact – that case his dad had taken home a year ago. There were a few cases every now and then with people having their head smashed in. There were no leads, Carl found out, and there seemed to be no connection between the victims - beside the horrible way they died. The only thing that was somewhat special was that the victims were all men. No children, no women, only men. Carl got hooked up on it fast. He studied the whole file – it wasn’t too thick, though – and he adored every photo, every drop of blood he saw. He wasn’t disgusted as he felt something inside him respond to it. He knew this feeling, had experienced it years ago but he seldom responded to it actively. There had only been a few occasions in which he had touched himself while looking at, or imagining those things. But this case, these raw, brutal killings made him hot in a way he had never experienced before. He couldn’t keep his hand from disappearing into his pants, couldn’t keep himself from stroking and massaging himself until he orgasmed.

It had always been so hard for him to feel anything, to genuinely feel things, that he was overwhelmed by his body’s response and he had to jerk himself off twice before he could think straight again. He knew this wasn’t normal, he knew boys his age dated girls, screwed them, and went to parties or some shit, but he couldn’t stop himself from reading the file over and over again, staring at the red puddles over and over again. And jerking off over and over again. He didn’t feel disgusted by himself, he didn’t even see anything wrong with it – except that he knew it wasn’t normal. But he didn’t care that it wasn’t normal. He just didn’t care. He hadn’t in a long time, at least not about this stuff. There was no use in it anyway.

 

It was a hot day when he left the station early. The sorting of the files was coming along just fine and his dad had told him to go home, that he didn’t want to see his son working with temperatures as high as they were that day. He promised to finish soon, too, and Carl knew there was no use in discussing.

The way home wasn’t that long, and he decided to walk. Taking the bus would have been ridiculous, so he started walking down the street. It was an impulsive decision to not go home but to go down to the river instead.

When he had been younger he had spent a lot of time down by the river, especially during summers, and he kind of felt the urge to pay a visit again. The way wasn’t long - there were a lot of trees around, and Carl enjoyed the cooler air in the shadows they cast. The water did the rest for a nicer climate down there, and the soft breeze helped to cool him down a bit. He liked the sound of the rushing water and even though there was no path to follow, he made his way along the river, following it upstream. Somewhere farther up was a place he had played at as a child. It was very remote, and back then he had liked it for its remoteness, for that not even once someone had come up there. He chuckled at the thought of having been a loner ever since those early days. He didn’t know how his parents had never really noticed that he didn’t like other kids, that he had started to act it all at some point. But he guessed they had been just too focused on their own problems – his mom on her affair and his dad on trying to ignore said affair.

Carl didn’t know how long he walked through bushes and high grass, but he must have been walking for quite some time. His thoughts were occupied by all the gross but oh so fascinating photos his mind kept showing him. He wondered who the murderer was. He wondered whether it was a man or a woman, but he suspected it was a man. He knew enough about killers and that they mostly were men, especially when they killed in such a brutal way. But he wondered who _exactly_ it was. Was it someone he knew? Was it a loner like him? Was it maybe someone who could act as good as him?

Distracted by those thoughts, he didn’t notice that he had reached that spot he had spent so much time when he was younger. The grass was tall, and it was the perfect place to hide, just as it had been years ago. He settled close to the water and began throwing rocks into the river, watching them disappear and letting his mind wander through the files once more.

He must have sat there for some minutes when he was pulled out of his thoughts as soon as he heard two people speaking. So, this place wasn’t as remote after all. He sighted and wanted to get up to go back home when he decided against it. He felt like listening in to the conversation of the two men, being curious about what they were doing here in the first place. So he stayed hidden behind the tall grass, keeping quiet and listening.

“You really know where we are? It looks fucking far away from everthing. No one’s going to hear us. Let’s stay here,” one of them said and sounded the slightest bit annoyed about being this far away from civilization.

“Nah, just a little farther. C’mon. It’ll be worth it,” the other answered with the slightest hint of amusement in his voice.

“Okay but that coasts extra.” There was a chuckle in the voice of the man saying that now, and Carl wondered whether those two were going to make out close by. He didn’t really like the thought of listening to two guys making out and thought about leaving as long as he could. He didn’t mind people having sex much in general, but he wasn’t too much into sex and all that stuff if it didn’t involve sick crime scene photos, and he had better things to do.

The two men were joking some more, and he got up to leave when he heard one of them sounding panicked all of a sudden. He hadn’t paid much attention to their ongoing conversation, so he didn’t know what was going on exactly.

“Wow, man, put that away. Don’t do something stupid, okay? What do you want? Money? I can suck your cock for free, okay?” The man sounded slightly nervous, but it sounded as if he tried to keep as calm as possible.

“Nah, I’m fucking fine with this. Just don’t make it uglier than it has to be, okay?”

“Dude, please, you can have all my money. Just put that fucking bat away, you are scaring the shit out of me.”

Carl turned toward the voices and his heart began to pump in a way he hadn’t experienced until now. What exactly was going on there? Were they arguing? Was it some kind of sick role play? He didn’t know and in that moment, he hated to not know so he decided to get closer, to see what was going on there. He felt like he'd missing something really important if he wouldn’t, so he made his way through the tall grass, being careful not to make too much noise. Not that it would have mattered with all the talking one of the men did, seemingly trying to convince the other to put the bat away.

Carl was almost sick of hearing this voice as a thud ended it. His heart jumped, and he had never felt as much as he did in that moment. He wasn’t close enough to see anything, but it made him move closer to change that. He stayed hidden, but he saw a figure, a man, towering over another man, raising a baseball bat into the air over his head. And lowering it. Fast. It smashed the man’s head and Carl inhaled sharply. This wasn’t possible. This was just… this was too much of a coincident. For a moment he thought about the possibility that it was just too warm, and that he was experiencing dehydration or something, but he knew that couldn’t be the case. This was really happening and he was watching it – was watching as a tall man bashed the head of another person again and again.

He knew he probably should run away but he couldn’t take his eyes off the lean frame of the man, couldn’t stop watching as droplets of blood splattered across his face, couldn’t ignore his maniac expression. This was perfect in every way and he felt something inside him shift, something warm forming in his stomach, flowing through his whole body. He felt his face flushing hot as the man continued to beat the head of the other to mush. He saw the muscles in his arms work every time he raised the bat and brought it down again.

Carl tried to look at the red mass on the ground, but it wasn’t nearly as fascinating as the black-haired man producing it. When he had looked at photos the remains of the dead were the stuff that had caught his interest, but in this moment he realized that this was just the case because he couldn’t see the person behind it. In this moment he realized, that the person behind this was one thousand times more interesting than the gory photos ever could be.

He tried to keep his breathing even, but it was too hard. He had seldom experienced such immense feelings and he simply didn’t know how to handle them. He must have been too loud while trying to calm himself. There was no other explanation as to why the man should shift his gaze from the now dead pile of flesh to the place he was kneeling in.

“What the fuck,” was all he heard from him as he grabbed the bat tighter and came to where Carl was. He knew he should move, should run away as fast as he could but he didn’t, couldn’t make himself do so. He just waited, almost patiently for the man to tower above him. His heart jumped as he saw the face of the man up close, with the perfectly shaped droplets of blood still glittering wet in the afternoon sun. He was perfect. In every possible way and even if he would beat him to death here and now, it wouldn’t matter because this moment was just too perfect and everything he ever wanted.

“What. The. _Fuck_.” The man growled in a low voice and all Carl could do was swallow, though there was nothing to swallow because his throat was as dry as a desert. He almost choked at his attempt, only managing to look up. He sat on the ground, leaning back on his arms. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Carl tried to swallow again, wanted to tell the man what a stupid question that was. It didn’t matter what he was doing here because obviously he wasn’t supposed to be here, to watch the god-like act he just witnessed.

“Does it matter?” was all he could force himself to say, only now noticing how husky his voice was. There wasn’t a single hint of fear because there simply was none existing inside him, and Carl felt his face twist into the slightest grin. This was perfect. This was everything he had ever dreamed of without knowing it. He could die a happy person – if this wasn't happiness he felt, he didn’t know what it was.

He felt the gaze of the man shifting from his face down his body. One of his eyebrows was raised as his eyes focused on Carl’s crotch.

“You fucking wet yourself?”

Carl didn’t need to look down to know what he was pointing at. He knew what had happened and he definitely hadn’t wet himself.

“Not exactly.”

It was the sweetest thing he had ever seen when he watched the man’s face change expressions as soon as he got what he had been told.

“The fuck. Guess you are even sicker than me. That’s a fucking thing I didn’t think possible.”

Carl thought he heard some kind of adoration in the man’s voice and he watched his eyes still fixated on his crotch, then raised back to his eyes.

“You really watched me beating the shit out of that guy and got off of it? Hell, you didn’t even touch yourself, did you?” Carl couldn’t read the tone of the man since it lacked any kind of emotion. Was he angry now? Impressed?

“I didn’t.” It was true. He hadn’t had time to open his pants and he imagined how overwhelming it would have been if he had. Some part of him regretted it but it was too late so there was no point in regretting it.

“Fucking fuck.”

The man squatted beside him and leaned on the bloody baseball bat. Carl’s eyes fixated on the tissue still sticking to it and he swallowed again. This was even better than he had ever imagined it. And he had imagined it more than once and every time had been amazing, but nothing compared to this. He felt somewhat alive and he liked the feeling, though he never really knew he was lacking it this much or that it could be that delicious.

“You really did get off of this, didn’t you?” Finally there was another emotion in his voice and he sounded kind of breathless. Carl wondered whether he liked it or not.

“More than to the photos I’ve seen,” Carl admitted because he saw no point in denying it. He finally met the men behind those photos – behind what was on those photos - that got him thinking about nothing else, so why should he lie? There were only two possibilities about what would happen next, and both wouldn’t get any worse if he was honest. There was no need in secrets now.

“What photos?” the man asked slightly confused but his voice was wary.

“The photos about the unsolved cases with people who got their heads beaten in.”

“How’d you get those?”

Carl felt the air getting thicker. He was sweating, not only because of the hot afternoon but because of all this here. It was dangerous, though he had never felt as alive as he did in this moment. What irony considering this could be his last afternoon. At least he had felt alive for once.

“I help at the police station. Sorting files. And those were my favorites,” he answered truthfully.

“Favorites, huh?”

Carl just managed to nod. He felt the dry grass between his fingers, the hard forest floor under his body. He was aware of everything around him – the river flowing a few feet behind him, the leaves making sounds in the wind, the smell of blood filling his nose, the sweat running down his forehead and neck.

He actually saw the hand coming down for him, but he didn’t dare to move. Was he afraid that it would destroy this moment? Was he afraid of the man? He didn’t think so. He suspected he was in fact curious and he didn’t want to miss out on anything by trying to run away. He wasn’t good at reading his own emotions, but this made sense, at least. His mind told him that no matter what, if he tried to run, the man would beat the shit out of him. And that really wasn’t something he wanted to experience himself. He wanted to see it, yes, but he didn’t want to be the one getting his head smashed.

A strong hand gripped the back of his shirt and forced him to stand up, to somehow stumble along the direction the man forced him to take. He still couldn’t find out who he was. Was he a local? He would have seen him, the town wasn’t that big, actually. But all the cases took place here so maybe he was just really good at hiding? Or did he come here to do it?

Carl didn't have time to follow this train of thoughts anymore, instead he felt himself being thrown towards the ground again. He braced himself for the impact, and managed to somehow get his hands under his body to not crash into the ground with his head first. It was only then that he realized he wouldn’t have collided with the _ground_ anyway but with the bloody mass on it. He stopped only inches away from. There was an eyeball kind of looking at him since it wasn’t as damaged as the rest of the guy’s head. He sucked in air, trying to comprehend what was happening.

“You still get off of this shit?” he heard the man from behind him. He couldn’t look away from the mass, and swallowed. This was so much more intense than he had imagined it and it kind of fascinated him that he wasn’t the slightest bit disgusted by it. It reeked worse than he had thought but besides that? It wasn’t like he was staring at a dead person but rather at some kind of beautiful painting.

He couldn’t say how long he looked at it, but the man didn’t say another word, didn't interrupt him. Carl saw the first flies landing on the mass and it was only then that he dared to sit up, to look around him. The man had sat down by now, curiously watching him and he felt somewhat safe, even though he knew the most logical thing to follow was his own death.

“I can’t stop myself from thinking this is beautiful,” he confessed. He had never been one who talked much beside the needed conversation to appear normal. Speaking his mind, his true mind, was rare, but he felt like if he ever could talk freely to anyone, it was to this man.

“You really are a sick fuck, kid.”

Carl felt his mouth twitch and before he could think about it, he smiled. Or something like a smile, he didn’t know whether this looked like a normal smile or not. It was always so hard to tell whether he did a good job at this stuff or not.

“Says the man who did this.”

“Fair.”

They continued to look at each other, probably both thinking about what would happen next. It was Carl breaking the silence between them.

“So, are you going to do the same to me then?”

The man’s eyebrow was raised, and he seemed to be surprised by that, though Carl couldn’t figure out why he would be. This was the most logical conclusion, wasn’t it? He saw something he wasn’t supposed to, so he needed to be taken care of.

“Would you like that?” the man asked and sounded truly interested in the answer that would follow.

“No, I wouldn’t. But you can’t let me go either, right?”

“True. But, you see, I don’t fucking want to. I already had my relief and I don’t want to smash the pretty face of yours. Besides you are a little psycho for getting off of this and – man – I have a soft spot for little psychos.”

The man let his hand put his sweaty hair out off his face, trailing through it and slicking it back this way. He seemed to think hard while watching Carl. He still had blood all over his face and Carl felt the urge to get closer and wipe it off of him. He couldn’t make out how old he was, he didn’t look very young but not that old either. Maybe something around thirty, with black hair and hazel eyes. He had never felt attracted to a lot of people, but he felt something towards this person and it was foreign and confusing and above all overwhelming to feel this much in a single day. He didn’t know yet whether he liked that or not.

Carl came closer on all fours before sitting down in front of the man, that was still leaning on his baseball bat, watching carefully. He didn’t flinch or move the slightest as Carl extended his arm and began to wipe away the droplets of blood. They were perfect, but the urge to clean them off was more pressing.

“How old are you, kid?” he simply asked without stopping him. It was weird to clean him like this and casually talking with a dead body nearby.

“Turned 18 a couple of weeks back.”

“So, you finished school, huh? Going for college somewhere?”

“Yeah, I will leave after this summer.”

“Dang. Far away?”

“Nah. I’ll probably leave for Georgia State University.”

Carl was finished wiping the man’s face, but he couldn’t bring himself to remove his hand from him. He stared into those dark eyes and wondered what he was thinking. Normally he was rather good in reading people but this one made it hard for him. So his hand stayed on the man’s cheek and he felt stubble against his palm.

“Georgia, huh?”

“Yeah.”

They fell silent again and Carl finally withdrew his hand from the man, staying seated only a few inches away.

“What’s your name?” the man asked after a few more silent moments.

“Carl. I would ask the same, but I believe you won’t tell me, would you?”

“Negan.”

“That’s a weird name,” Carl told him truthfully.

“Watch your mouth,” Negan said with a chuckle and the most perfect grin on his face. If his heart would be capable of something like that, Carl was sure it would have skipped a beat at this sight. But it didn’t. Still, he felt warm while watching him showing his perfect teeth.

“Sorry. I just never heard such a name before,” he replied with a small grin himself. He hoped it didn’t look too fake, but he was just too used to return every facial expression he received in order to fit in.

“You fake this grin, don’t you?” Carl was surprised about being asked so bluntly and he dropped the fake smile immediately. He nodded with his now rather blank expression. He didn’t know why he was this honest, but he felt like he could be, like he _should_ be. There was nothing left to lose. No one had ever asked him about it before. Not his father or mother, not a teacher, not another kid. He was sure his father at least knew that _something_ was off about his son, but he had never asked, probably not wanting to hear the answer anyway.

“Was it that obvious?”

“Not really, but it’s not hard to guess there’s something wrong with you liking this fucked up stuff here,” Negan said but Carl couldn’t stop thinking that he must be better at reading people than most.

“I’m not good with appropriate reactions so I copy whatever someone does.”

“That sounds damn freaky. You always been like that?”

“Mhm. I guess. I don’t remember it being any other way.”

“That really is some fucked up stuff. Always thought I was the weird one. Hell, I probably am but you are close. You ever killed somebody?”

“Hell, no. I wouldn’t do that. It was enough to look at photos. But you do this a lot?” It was true. He never thought about killing someone, he didn’t like the thought of the act. And the consequences.

“Only sometimes. When I need to relieve some stress.”

This made Carl chuckle, not a faked chuckle but a real one for a change. He didn’t remember the last time he did something like that. It must have been years ago.

“What’s so funny?” he asked with a crooked grin and Carl couldn’t stop thinking he sounded truly interested in his answer. The two of them must make a strange couple, sitting beside a dead body, grinning at each other.

“You kill people to relieve stress? Isn’t that a bit extreme?”

He grinned again, more this time, and Carl felt his heart feeling so full. It was an alien feeling to him, but he tried to pay it as little attention as possible.

“Yeah. Sometimes. I’m not good with being frustrated and stuff like that. I started when I was young and still do it every once in a while.” He shrugged as if it was the most normal thing to do. The rational part of Carl knew it wasn’t, but he didn’t care about it like other people probably would. For him it was as if he had been told that Negan did some sort of sport to relieve stress. And in some way, he did. Carl wasn’t even close to judge him for it.

“Hm…” Carl continued to look into those hazel eyes and wondered what the man was thinking in this moment. “But you aren’t stressed now and won’t kill me, right?”

“Yeah, I guess. Though I actually should. Y’know, you could tell people.”

“But I won’t.”

Now this sounded like straight from a cheap movie, but Carl meant every word. He had no reason to, and if the other was as rational as he thought he was, then he knew that, too.

“Yeah, I know.”

They continued their staring, each one engulfed in their own thoughts before Negan rose to his feet, looking down at Carl.

“I got to go.”

He watched Negan letting his bloody bat fall to the ground to get a clean shirt from a place some feet away. He didn’t think about it when he followed him to the river then. Negan had picked up the bat on the way and let it down on the shore where Carl sat down himself. He watched Negan pulling his stained shirt over his head only to do the same with his pants and underwear. It was weird to watch a stranger getting undressed this casually and walk into the river to clean himself, but Carl enjoyed the view. He felt somewhat calm but not in the numb way he was used to.

Negan scrubbed his skin clean and kind of washed his hair in the cool stream and Carl admired his muscled back, his defined arms, and the small and the bigger tattoos everywhere. When he came out of the water his gaze also stopped at his crotch and he felt the need to swallow. He didn’t plan to stare, he wasn’t even interested in stuff like that, but he enjoyed looking at him no matter what.

“Yeah, I know I am handsome as fuck,” he heard the man say in a low voice and this was his cue to shift his gaze back up.

“Sorry.”

“Nah, I get that.”

“I just never really saw someone naked.”

“Fuck, what? I thought you said you’re 18. Never screwed anyone? Never been screwed?”

Carl just shook his head. He never liked the idea of being close to anyone, let alone being touched himself.

“That sounds boring as fuck. Kids these days…”

Negan sat down next to him, still naked and he pulled a cigarette out of his pants laying in a pile next to him. He lighted it and offered it to Carl who just looked at him in confusion.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t smoked either.”

“I haven’t.”

“Well, shit. You really are weird.”

Negan brought the lit cigarette to his own lips and began smoking it while watching over the river. Carl did so, too, and wondered if he should go home soon. His dad was probably at home already, but he didn’t care. He would just tell him some story and everything would be fine. He didn’t really want to miss anything here.

“You really don’t want to try?” Negan offered him the half-smoked cigarette again and this time Carl took it. He never smoked but he thought it couldn’t be that hard, right? So he brought the thing to his lips and took a drag. It tasted disgusting and he was sure his face showed exactly that because the man began to laugh while having his head propped on one hand which, in turn, was resting on one of his knees. “You need to inhale, not only puff the shit.”

“It tastes disgusting anyway.” Carl took another drag anyway and inhaled this time. It didn’t taste as bad, but it was a weird feeling. He didn’t choke but he was close to it, and his body felt weird and heavy from the smoke. He wanted to hand it back to the man but as he did he saw that he had lit another one in the meanwhile.

“You’ll get used to it.”

So, they smoked the cigarettes away – Carl’s first cigarette. After finishing the remaining half of the it, Carl felt somewhat dizzy and queasy. But he didn’t say anything, only watched Negan finish his. Then he watched him get up again as he tapped the dirt off his naked skin. Carl’s gaze again traveled to his navel and then his groin, but Negan didn’t say anything to it this time. He simply grabbed his clothes and put them on, folding the stained shirt and washing the dried blood from the baseball bat.

“I really got to go now. Try not to spy on other killers. They might not be as nice as I am.”

Carl nodded, though he didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if he did watch him on purpose or anything. It was a stupid coincidence. He remained seated as Negan grabbed his stuff and made his way down the river. Carl waited almost half an hour before he went home himself, trying to cover up his crotch that was still stained with his unplanned orgasm that had happened earlier.


End file.
